Long As I Can See The Light
by Clavis Salomonis
Summary: Something strange is going on, which isn’t really that weird for Sam and Dean Winchester, but somehow, after a visit to a haunted house; neither of them are acting like themselves. Are the undead always the bad guys? Set in early series three.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Long As I Can See The Light This is also the title of a very good CCR song  
Author: Clavis Salomonis  
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or the wondrous Sam and Dean, maybe one day if I manage to take over the universe. But that day is not today.. -sigh- I guess I can dream though

This is my first fanfic, so I apologise for my tangents.

Honest opinions are greatly appreciated

Long As I Can See The Light 

"Come on, Brandy!" He stopped as he spoke, turned and grabbed hold of her arm, pulling her along the dimly lit road. "It's just around the corner."

"Mike," she paused, shaking his hand off her with a flap of her limb. It was a cold, cloudless night; her breath flowed out of her mouth like steam, a haze into the darkness. Brandy shivered, and looked up to her companion. "Mike, I, I don't think I want to do this anymore…" Her forehead knotted together as she stared at him, he watched her back for a second, taking in her features. His mind deciding on the best course of action.

"Brandy." He said, softly, moving closer to her. "I would never let anything happen to you…" Her expression smoothed slightly, her dark brown eyes seeming to relax. She uncrossed her arms. "But you chose dare!" He grinned maniacally at his younger sister before once more taking hold of her arm and pulling her in the direction of the house.

"Mike!" She complained, it took her a moment to react, for the information to correctly resister in her frozen brain, and by that time, he had nearly dragged her around the corner.

The still cold wash to the air danced on her bare face and scrapped down her numb fingers. She was only wearing a T-shirt and her thin, dark green jacket, as well as her jeans.

Brandy took a deep breath in through her lungs, the sensation like ice dripping down her throat, the oxygen caught at the back, freezing the muscle for a second, almost making her cough.

She tried to struggle against her brother once more, but it was half heatedly, he was stronger than her, and in her heart of hearts she would rather suffer this dare, than risk the trouble and torment at home for the next six months for being a 'wimp'.

He paused just before the corner, leaning back to smile wickedly at her for a heartbeat before whisking her around the dark red brick wall.

As Brandy's eyes locked onto it, they widened, her breath becoming just that little bit faster, a slight hint of heat and panic rising to her pale, freezing face.

She swallowed, but it was dry and stuck to the back of her throat. Her brother grinned at her, letting go of her arm and gave her a firm push towards the building.

Brandy fell forwards a few steps then turned to glare menacingly at Mike, who simply laughed at her expression.

She swung back her head, anger making her brave, and marched towards the front door, her arms clutched about herself, more from the cold than fear. Well, that's what she told herself.

The young girl pushed though the front gate, using the side of her body to open it, not even daring to touch it. The old and decaying wood half falling apart as her jacket brushed against it. The hinges creaked, but only slightly, the rusty red caked metal moved stiffly like old joints. She barely gave the thick padlock and chains a glance, knowing, for years now, that they were only for show and did nothing.

The garden was nightmare dark and over grown, the leaves reaching out to her like hands, she swallowed and walked on, keeping her eyes fixed on the front door and nothing else.

Dead leaves muffled her foot steps, fallen twigs and branches snapped under her footfall like brittle bones, some now and again trying to twist themselves around her ankles, like snakes, trying to pull her down.

Brandy let out a little yelp and kicked at the entangled wood, her mind making her see a viper when there was only shadow. As her foot broke free in a panic ragging jerk she flew forwards, half running, her body wanting to break into a sprint, wanting to race the hell out of there, but her mind telling her to clam down. It was only her imagination. There was nothing to fear. There was no reason to be afraid of the dark. That she couldn't let Mike win.

She breathed in deeply through her nose, counting to five before continuing in this jungle like world, composure now restored and glad that her brother couldn't see her from his position on the other side of the road.

She inhaled strongly, then stopped, freezing in place, only her eyes moving as they grew in size. She could hear breathing behind her, could see the traces of mist like breath being carried by the wind, over her shoulder. The white fog just catching at the corner of her eye.

"Mike?" She faked annoyance in her voice, seemingly like she knew it was him. And it had to be. Who else was there? When no reply came, she was sure that it was her brother, only he would be so annoying. And the breathing was quite clear down. She sighed. "Were you too scared to wait by yourself…" She trailed off as she turned to face him and found nothing but the small path she had just walked along. The closed wooden gate just visible. She swallowed. "Mike?" Brandy called again, louder this time. _That's weird… _She thought, in spite of herself. _I could have sworn I left the gate open…_ A deep resonating shiver ran down her spine, tingling down to the base of her legs, adrenaline races through her system pushing her to run, as fast as she could. Her heart hammered so loud she could hear it, swear that it had escaped her body and was right next to her. She spun her head to the side suddenly, had she heard a noise? Nothing, nothing but the shadows.

She closed her eyes, and shook her head.

"Come on Bran, it's just a house, it's nothing to be scared of… Don't give Mike the satisfaction. You're mind is just playing tricks on you…" She nodded to herself, pulling her arms tighter around her torso and skipped to the front door. She skipped because it was faster than walking, but causal enough so that when her brother saw her approach the house, he would just think that she was cold.

She hoped that was what he would think.

Brandy almost flew up the few steps that reached the porch, and turned, to see Mike still standing where she had left him, he smiled and nodded at her.

'You took your time.' He mouthed at her. She pulled a face.

'Five minutes.' He nodded back at her and repeated her words, before glancing down at his watch and then back to her.

'Go.'

Brandy took a deep breath, and walked towards her fate.

Sam Winchester prodded his brother in the ribs gently, but firmly. Dean flinched suddenly his left hand half bating his younger sibling away before seeming to go back to the realm of slumber. Sam sighed.

"Dean."

"Five more minutes." The older brother mumbled, moving his head to find a more comfortable position.

"Dean," Sam began, taking on the air of a disgruntled schoolteacher with a difficult pupil. "You've had the last fifteen minuets. Wake up."

The older hunter rolled his head to glare at the younger, his jaw clenched.

"What time is it?"

"Ten past nine." Dean let out a long groan as he let his head drop forwards. Sam bit back smile. "Ten past nine is a civilised time to get up Dean." His older brother gave him a look of disgust.

"Number one, no it's not. Number two, I've only had two hours worth of sleep-" He sat up in his seat, and began to count on his fingers.

"Actually, you're had about ninety five minutes sleep." Sam interrupted, feeling quite awake and cheerful this morning. Dean gave him a look that could physically kill, his brother grinned and shook his head slightly as the older rubbed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair, making a great deal of it stand up on end.

"Anyway, as I was saying, I've had two, I'm rounding up," he quickly added before his brother could get a word in, and then held out two fingers to emphasise his point. "Two hours of sleep in two, count 'em, _two _days…" He looked despairingly at his younger sibling. "Two."

"Well, really, it's about one day and a-"

"Sam!" Dean moaned, hanging his head. "You're such a geek." He said, half heatedly, too drowsy to say or do anything else. Sammy chuckled gently.

"Dean."

"What?" He snapped his head up. Sam watched him for a moment, enjoying his misery and annoyance, before giving him one of his very best smiles and held out a cup in front of him.

"I got you a coffee." His older brother's eyes lit up suddenly as he glanced from the slowly steaming beverage to his brother and back again.

"Sam," he began, almost like a priest in prayer. "Have I ever told you, I love you?" The younger Winchester let out a laugh as the elder took hold of the container, wrapping his hands around it, letting the warmth spread into his fingers and savouring the aroma, before taking a long gulp.

He let out a sigh as he swallowed, leaning back in the seat to stretch out his legs; he felt the bone in his left give out a small, satisfactory click. He gazed at the cup in his right hand.

"One day, caffeine, I'll make a honest woman out of you…"

Sam raised his eyebrows. Dean didn't notice.

The elder Winchester leant his head back against the rest and let himself shift down in his seat, causing his black jacket to group about his shoulders. Sam watched him for a moment, his left-hand loafing loosely on the steering wheel. He shifted his own legs, looking longingly out the windshield, like a prisoner behind bars. His mind wandered, imaging the relief that would come when he could stand fully and stretch his spine.

The younger sibling glanced once more at the older; Dean was about half way through his coffee, and already he seemed more relaxed, more awake. The muscles in his limbs had unclenched and his jaw had loosened, his temples now soft and peaceful. He blinked slowly, every now and then, as if waking from a long and deeply for filling sleep.

Strange how the beverage in his hand seemed to refresh his brother more than a good night slumber. How the mere psychological effect of caffeine seemed to rejuvenate him completely. Sam was almost certain that his brother would become just as perky if he gave him de-caf.

"Probably taste the difference…" He muttered, absentmindedly, not realising that he had spoken out loud.

Dean turned towards him, forcing himself up once more with a swift push of his legs. He took another thankful gulp of the dark beverage and looked opened eyed, with his eyebrows raised, at Sam, an expression the younger brother knew, whether out of experience or instinct, meant he was questioning what he had just said.

Sam, after a pause of realisation, shrugged, half shaking his head to say that it didn't matter.

"Well," the younger began, inhaling gently through his mouth. "Have you had enough coffee to maintain a coherent conversation or do you need another mouthful?"

Dean paused, mid drink, purposely lowered the cup, stared off into the distance and swirled the warm liquid around in his mouth for a few minutes before swallowing and looking back to his brother.

"I'm good." He answered innocently. Sam knew that the correct course of action would be to scowl, then again, that was probably the reaction Dean wanted. He grinned and shook his head in spite of himself; unable to be irritated when his brother was in such a good of a mood.

"I've got us a room." The younger Winchester said after a moment.

"Awesome." Dean nodded, thinking and staring out the window, only just taking in the fact that they were in the parking lot of a motel. "Where are we again?" Sam began to say the town's name but upon seeing his brother's blank expression he decided on a different approach.

"It's a small town,"

"Aren't they always." Sam breathed out a laugh.

"But this one isn't staying small for long, the population has quadrupled in the last six mouths alone. There's major construction going on, buildings for housing, work places, and entertainment-" Dean looked at his brother suddenly, with renewed interest. "Not that kind of entertainment Dean."

"Figures."

"Anyway, the district is expanding, and rapidly. It's one of America's fastest growing communities-"

"Sam, seriously, skip the five hundred reasons why this is the best place ever, you could sell snow to the penguins, you know that?" Dean interrupted, rolling his neck slightly to un-stiffen the muscles, trying to work out the kinks. "Why are we here? And why is it more important than me sleeping?"

"Well," the younger brother began once more the elder Winchester's remarks like water off a duck's back, now so common to Sam he barely noticed them.

"I did tell you yesterday Dean." The aforementioned nodded slightly for a moment, his mouth open, like a surprised student in a pop quiz, trying to recall information that just wasn't there.

"What was playing?" Sam now gave his brother the raised eyebrows; widened eyed 'sorry?' look.

"What music was playing in the car?" He motioned sharply with his right hand while he kept his left, which was holding the coffee, crystal still. There was a small pause as realisation dawned.

"Oh…Erm, Cream I guess, 'Sun Raise Of Your Love', or something." Sam shrugged slightly.

"It's 'Sun_shine _Of Your Love.' " The elder Winchester patted his brother patronisingly on the shoulder. "And that makes a lot of sense." He nodded musing to himself and continued to drink his coffee.

Sam waited for a moment, expecting him to explain, after a minute of silence he decided to prompt him.

"Well?" Dean looked at him like he had three heads and Sam lost all hope of normality in his brother.

" 'Sunshine Of Your Love…' "The younger Winchester bent his head ever so slightly to the side, blinking heavily and tensing his cheeks, trying to understand what his brother was saying. " 'Sunshine Of Your Love'…" Dean repeated once more. "It's a classic."

Sam sighed; 'classic' obviously meaning that Dean couldn't concentrate on anything other than the song.

"Anyway, we're in room fourteen." There was a beat as the elder nodded and then they both, simultaneously opened their doors and got out, Dean twisted around to shut his with the same hand to avoid disrupting his drink, while Sam used the other, with a flick of his wrist.

He paused for a moment, stretching out his back and arms before taking his and his brother's duffel bag out of the Impala. Dean rolled his neck and arms in their sockets before arching his back, causing his shirt to ride up slightly. He yawned gently and tugged his clothing back before excepting his bag from his brother. He nodded in thanks and they both began to walk to their room, after locking the car doors.

Sam took the lead slightly, since he located their room first and he had the key.

The air was cool but thankfully still, Dean watched as his breath froze and became mist in the air. The sky was a pale, icy blue, the sun still low in the sky. The elder Winchester half watched it for a moment, careful not to stare directly into its light.

He inhaled deeply, feeling the tingles of cold flow down his throat. He always preferred cold to heat, would rather freeze than fry.

The sky always looked better to him in the colder months, crisper, more hopeful somehow. As if that mattered.

He paused for a moment as Sam opened the door, finishing the coffee in one large gulp and then tossed it into a near by bin, before following his brother inside.

"So, why are we…" Dean shut the door behind him and turned to stand sidebuy side with the younger Winchester. He left his words hanging as he surveyed the room. "Woah."

"Yeah."

"Huh."

"Yeah."

The elder brother walked carefully to the bed furthest away, letting Sam have the nearest and chucked his bag as the foot before falling heavily onto the mattress. The springs groaned mildly.

The younger sibling continued to glance about the room, slightly opened mouthed.

"Sammy, this must be the most normal room we have ever, _ever_ stayed in." He laid out flat thumping his head down on the pillows, and then, after a moment, bending his arms and shifting his hands under the back of his skull.

"Yeah." Sam answered in half confusion, half daze, having seen the garish reception he had been preparing himself for, well, something equally or greater in the realm of garish.

But this was normal, completely normal. Super normal.

"I don't like it." Dean said, almost catching Sam by surprise and forcing him out of his thoughts.

"What?" He asked, almost out of habit before walking over to the unoccupied bed, carefully placing his bag by the side and perching on the edge.

"This room. Feels like I'm in a scene from 'Rosemary's Baby.' " Dean spoke clearly, his eyes closed.

Sam gave a breath of a laugh.

"Dean, I really don't think 'Old Nick' is going to come 'round here looking to do the nasty." The elder Winchester chuckled.

"Well maybe if you tried a little harder with your presentation, Sammy." The younger hunter shook his head, but still enjoying his brother's playful mood. "Anyway, you gonna tell me why we're here?" Sam paused a beat, to take in the white walls, the pale pine wooden furniture.

"Well, while we were still sorting out the banshee-"

"Ugh, don't remind me about the banshee."

"I caught wind of this case, Bobbie gave me the tip off, he said he might join us down here after he's finished with a poltergeist." He paused to draw breath. Dean's eyes were open now, watching him with interest. The elder was quieter now, calm, letting his brother tell the tale, give him the facts before he spoke once more. He smiled slightly at the mention of Bobbie, looking foreword to seeing him again.

"As I said the town's going through an economic boom, lots of old and abandoned houses are being resorted. Any empty land is being built on.

I know that's not usually our problem, but one of the houses being built on," he stopped again to pull several printed out pages from his bag. "Has a rather interesting history. It was built in the nineteen-forties by Ted Vincent, he and his wife Melanie lived in it until their deaths. Ninety sixty-four, for Melanie, nineteen sixty-six for Ted.

It then became the property of one Emily Swan, formally Emily Vincent, Ted and Melanie's only child, she was married in nineteen sixty four, at eighteen years old, to a one Peter Swan. They lived in the house until their deaths in sixty-eight and the house was vacant for five years.

First I thought there might be something suspicious in that, but I managed to look into the economic records on the Internet and there was a serious lull in the market at that time. Seems like no one was really selling house-" Dean gave him the 'you're seriously going off on a tangent look'. "In nineteen seventy three a couple moved in, Paul and Lilly Swindon, Lilly complained of trouble sleeping for about three weeks after they moved in. She saw the local physician, and mentioned than Paul was, and I quote 'having strange mood swings'. Five weeks after they moved in, both were found dead in their homes, heart attacks. Paul was thirty-five, Lilly was thirty-two.

Seventy-six, another couple, Gary, twenty-nine, and Pauline, thirty-one, Greenman, died two weeks after they moved in, heart attacks. There was a mention of 'mood swings', but no sleepless nights.

Seventy-seven, Frank and Jennifer Peterson, both twenty-seven, died six days after moving in."

"Let me guess, heart attacks?"

"Heart attacks. No mention of mood swings. Since then the house has pretty much been abandoned, there's a local rumour that it is haunted.

In the late seventies there was three bodies found, homeless people, all different years, who police assumed entered the building for somewhere to stay for the night.

Through the eighties and nineties there were five deaths, all heart attacks. All victims where under forty. And coroners have no explanation for their sudden deaths. But then again that might be because most were vagabonds, a full scale investigation never took place, no one really cares about people like that I guess." Sam paused, ever so slightly, the thought saddening him deeply.

"Probably thought they all were on drugs or something." Dean muttered gently. His brother nodded in return. "But Sam, I mean, if its been quiet for a while, and no other hunter has picked it up, then maybe, maybe it is all just coincidence." He flinched a little as he said the word.

"Aha!" Sam held up a finger. "That's probably what most would have assumed." The elder Winchester raised his eyebrows, signalling his brother to continue. "Brandy Langan, six days ago, walked into the house for a dare, never came out. Her older brother, Mike, was waiting outside. He was apparently timing her for the dare." Sam stared harder at the paper, almost willing the printed words to change and the answer to appear in front of him. "I'm not quite sure what that's really about, doesn't say." He shifted his gaze to another piece of battered paper. "This is just general information, I haven't seen the police records anything, it's probably gonna be easier just to talk to the family. Anyway when his sister didn't come out after fifteen minutes over the challenge's time, he went in himself to investigate. And he found he dead in the hallway, barely took two steps." Dean mused for a moment, working the information around in his mind.

"So, if he went in, how come whatever got her didn't get him?" Sam carried on looking at his brother for a moment, before checking through the papers once more.

"Erm, ah, well, he didn't stay in the house long. Apparently, after seeing his sister, and checking her pulse he ran out to be, well, to empty his stomach. He told the cops, that he didn't want to go back in, 'there was a feeling to that place, I didn't like it.' That could just be put down to shock, I guess.

But what was weird,"

"I love weird."

"Was that he did mention his phone wouldn't make the call to 911 while he was in the house, even the garden. Just kept getting a strange 'buzzing' noise, 'like breathing'. He also stated that he wanted to stay with his sister's body at first, and that his phone trouble only started after he began to get the 'strange feeling'."

Dean nodded again, still thinking.

"How old was she?" The younger Winchester paused for a moment, not expecting the question, especially from his brother.

"Oh, er, fourteen."

"Hell."

"Yeah."

There was a pause.

"Sammy?" Dean glanced over to him.

"Yeah?"

"Did I never give you weird dares when you were fourteen?" The younger Winchester gave a snort of a laugh.

"Yeah, you did." The elder clinched his jaw slightly. Sam swallowed. "But they were usually to do with me closing my eyes and you jumping out at me." He paused, then added. "Usually brandishing some sort of weapon."

Dean grinned.

Then yawned slightly, he pulled his right hand from under his head to cover his mouth, then rub his eyes. The mistress of sleep calling him home.

"Caffeine jolt wearing off? Seriously your body must be becoming immune." The elder gave a chuckle.

"So what's the plan?" He stretched; repositioning himself, and blinking heavily, the time his lids stayed shut lasting longer each time, like his eyelashes were trying to knit themselves together.

"Well, I want to do some more research on the house first, what I got hold of didn't say how the first four occupants died, I'd like to know if any were heart attacks. Personally I'm betting on Ted Vincent. Could be a history there. See what we get and then head to Langan's house later on to talk to the family."

"Sounds great." Dean muttered, half in the realm of slumber.

"Dean."

"Why don't you go to library and come and get me when you're done…" Sam rolled his eyes slightly, and got to his feet.

"Well, alright, but only because you have had two hours sleep for forty eighth hours, and I'd rather you weren't drowsy when you're meant to be watching my back." There was no answer, no even a cheer of triumph. Even if Dean did complain about going to the library, his brother knew that he really didn't mind it. Just liked winding him up.

He turned to gather the equipment he would need, patting the pocket of his jeans absentmindedly to check the car keys were still there.

"Dean?" Sam said, pulling on his jacket. "Dean?" He tried a little louder, then turned, mouth open, ready to start a sentence and found his brother dead to the world.

Not literally.

The younger Winchester smiled, watching his brothers chest rise and fall for a second, enjoying seeing his sibling so calm. After all this was the only real time when Dean was quiet.

He shifted his bag on his shoulder, pulled at the collar of his white pinstriped shirt, before leaving the room, as quietly as he could.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam Winchester sighed, quite an unconscious action

Sam Winchester sighed, quite an unconscious action.

He had been shifting through papers for the past, well; he'd lost track of the time. He knew it was a hell of a lot though, his eyes could tell him that. They blurred every now and again, small dark dots sprinkling in front of his vision if he even focused for more than a minute.

He looked away, inhaling deeply through his nose and rubbing at the corners of his eyes, pinching at the bridge of his nose.

Apparently, even if the town was expanding, the staff at the library wasn't.

It hadn't taken much to get to look at the documents, a little charm, a smile and it was a done deal, he hadn't even had to lie. Luck seemed to be on his side.

There were, however, tones of files, some as early as the nineties, that weren't computerised. Meaning he had to go through them all by hand.

Great.

Maybe not so lucky after all.

The hunter shook his head slightly, causing his dark hair to cascade lightly about his face, moving for a second before falling back into place, and started again. He must have read the same sentence at least seven times.

Even though he thought it was selfish of him, he wished, whole heatedly at that moment, that Dean was there with him, it would still take forever and a day to go through all the files. Sam didn't desire to condemn his brother to the boredom, pains and eyesight difficulties, but it would have taken less time for the task to be accomplished. And he'd have someone to talk too.

The elder Winchester was usually at his most funniest when in a library doing a mind-numbing task, the younger missed his humour.

_What's it going to be like when Dean isn't around?_

A little voice spoke somewhere at the back of his mind, Sam's eyes snapped open, his head up, swallowing deeply. He froze for a moment. Then pushed the thought away like it had never happened.

He carried on reading the file, resting his chin on his fist, wondering if it what have been easier to go the Langan house first when something caught his eye.

He pulled the darkened, aged piece of paper out from a pile of publications; a small, fine, frown creased his forehead as he read. Sam was slightly unsure of what it was, it looked neither to be a report or an article, but it seemed reliable.

Nineteen seventy was printed at the top, meaning it was written two years after the deaths of Emily and Peter Swan.

The type was slightly faded, but still legible, seeming to have been transcribed on a typewriter and, from the appearance, had been left out in the sun.

As he finished his energy seemed to return to him, a glorious joyful smile spreading across his face and breaking into a full out grin as he saw the light in the middle of the blinding darkness of boredom.

He scrambled up, his hand still keeping firm hold of the paper, his eyes rescanning it over and over, making sure that the mind numbing element of the task hadn't made him delirious enough to make the entire thing up.

The younger Winchester rushed, still half reading, half looking where he was going, to the front desk.

A thin, middle aged, dark haired woman sat behind it, she was typing excessively on a computer keyboard with one hand, the other holding a steaming mug to her lips, her sharp looking brown eyes focused earnestly on the screen to her left.

Sam waited patiently before the desk, wavering ever so slightly, he wanted to be out of there was soon as humanly possible, but he didn't want to seem rash or rude.

He glanced to the sign on the wall he'd seen earlier. 'No photocopying/recording of the documents.'

He didn't really understand why it wasn't aloud, and a photocopy was exactly what he needed. If the library had been bigger, he might have simply tried taking a picture with his cell, but pretty much everywhere was visible to the staff, and sneaking off to the bathroom would look, suspicious to say the least.

He's save that as a last resort.

The woman, finished the last of her typing quickly, swallowing a small gulp from the ceramic green cup and looked up to Sam. She smiled pleasantly, the action making her seem younger, the hunter's mind automatically recalculating that she wasn't as old as he had first assumed, probably in her mid twenties.

"Hi," her voice was equally pleasant, and professional. A lot more bearable than the blonde woman he's had to deal with to get a look at the files. "Can I help you?"

"Erm, yeah," Sam began, taking on the air of an embarrassed, and nervous college student. He had found out long ago that people always tried to help more if you seemed a little pathetic. "I'm doing a history paper on the town and I've been looking at some of the files,"

"Yeah, I've seen you." She beamed. "You can certainly research, you've been here for ages, before my shift even started." Sam glanced up at the clock on the far cream coloured wall, 2:46pm. Wow. He didn't know he's been there for that long. He let out a half-shocked breath of a laugh.

"Yeah, erm, I do." He said, trying to get his mind back on the conversation and not worry that he'd probably have twenty missed calls from Dean on his phone, that he'd turned off. "And I've got a lot, it's just that, well, I couldn't see anywhere, but I kinda need to make a copy of some documents. Is that aloud? I know they're sorta old."

The girl bit at her lip gently. Glancing over the plaque on the wall, 'No photocopying/recording of the documents.' The hunter pretended not to see it.

"How many files do you need copying?"

"Well," Sam swallowed, pretending to be considering the question. "I could get away with just this one really." He held the document higher. She smiled gently, nodding slightly.

"Ok. I'll see what I can do." She got up out of her chair, held out her hand as Sam pasted the paper.

"Thank you, really you're a life saver." He gave her one of his very best grins, his eyes large and soulful. "Really, um…" He paused, rubbing at the back of his neck and motioning slightly with his hand.

"Jenny." She smiled, brushing her fringe out of her eyes, half looking at Sam, half-looking at the maroon colour carpeted ground.

She turned and walked into a back room, market 'Private'.

Sam fidgeted slightly; he looked around him, wondering if he could check his phone without anyone hearing the notes of the start up song.

He glanced at the clock once more, probably wasn't worth the hassle.

It took almost ten minutes before Jenny came out again.

"Sorry it took so long." She breathed the apology. Sam shook his head slightly, pretending like he hadn't been counting the seconds. She placed the document he had given her on the side, and a pile of about fifteen copied pages on the desk in front of him.

The younger Winchester raised his eyebrows ever so slightly in question.

"I copied your file, and I looked at the reference, there were a couple of others that had a similar context to your one that were in the 'stable' pile," she paused, glancing up at Sam. "They hadn't been filed yet, so you probably didn't get a chance to look at them. A couple even follow on from the one you've been reading. They're mainly to do with the Vincent and Swan family in the sixties."

Sam let out another surprised breath of a laugh and grinned.

"Thank you." He said, earnestly.

"No trouble." She picked the photocopies up once more and handed them over. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Does you're paper have anything to do with what happened to Brandy Langan?" Jenny bit at her lip once more.

"Erm, a little I guess… Did you know her?" The hunter readjusted the papers in his hands, deciding he might as well try the direct approach. And that the distressed college student was probably the most helpful cover ever.

"Not really, I kinda know her older brother, not Mike, he was the one with her that called 911, and her older, older brother Laurence. Such a sad accident." Sam nodded. "Anyway, I hope those documents are helpful."

"Thank you again, Jenny." She lit up slightly as he said her name. "I'll see you around."

She gave him a little wave as he left.

When Sam Winchester turned on his mobile, there were no missed calls, no voice messages and no texts waiting from his brother, he therefore assumed that Dean was still asleep.

So it was rather surprising when he walked into their room to 'Badge' by Cream blaring on the radio.

His forehead etched together in an exhausted way, he had half been hoping that the elder Winchester would still be sleeping and that he could catch twenty, or so, winks.

No such luck.

"Sammy!" Dean called brightly, as he walked from the bathroom, clapping his hands together and rubbing them vigorously. He looked refreshed and alert. "Woah, Sam, you look like you died and were brought back to life by a trainee hoodoo priest."

"Attentive today, aren't we?" Sam huffed, walking to his bed and sitting heavily. He had felt steadily worst ever since he had left the library, the dancing spots of colour in front of his vision turning to into massive, incoherent shapes stampeding around in his head like elephants learning how to tap dance.

In short, he had a migraine.

"How was your nap?" The younger asked, he could still be polite, even if he was in pain, as the elder turned off the radio. The song had finished anyway.

Dean thudded down next to him, Sam only just realising that his brother had changed his clothes, and had a shower by the slight dampness to his hair.

"Good, refreshing… I dreamt about a polar bear." Sam snorted.

"A polar bear?"

"Yeah."

"Huh." The younger nodded slightly to himself.

"How was your study group?" Dean asked, pulling absentmindedly at the collar of his dark shirt, Sam could see a hint of a Metallica T-shirt underneath.

"Good, I thought it may have been a bit of a dead lost at first, but then I found this one document and a girl, Jenny-"

"Was she hot?" The elder Winchester interrupted, his interest suddenly perking up. Sam paused for a moment, deadpan.

"I didn't notice."

"I'll take that as a yes then."

"Anyway," he gave his sibling a glare. "She found some more, I've skimmed over most of them."

"So," Dean motioned with his hand, bobbing slightly to the sides. "Give me the low down."

"You are in a good mood aren't you?" The younger hunter breathed, weary.

"I got to sleep, I had a shower, I've listened to Cream." He shrugged. "The only thing that could make it better is a toasted sandwich." Sam laughed.

"Maybe later." The younger sibling glanced down to his hands; he moved them slightly, a multicoloured trail following his movements. Definite migraine.

"Promises, promises." Dean shifted his position, taking on a more serious air. "What did you find?"

"Well, first of all, no heart attacks."

"Really?" The elder frowned.

"Yep. Second, I've got the reason of death for all the occupants. Turns out the document I found was 'booster notes' that a journalist wrote." Dean stared blankly at his brother. "Erm, they're sort of brief facts that a writer puts down, knowing that they'll have to include them in the main article they write."

"Dude, why couldn't you just say notes?" Sam ignored him.

"So, the relevant information was pretty much handed to us on a plate. Even if it was incredibly hard to find. Sorta cancels each other out I guess." He pinched gently at the bridge of his nose, trying to dislodge the thundering ache between his eyes.

"You ok?" His brother asked, a stern note of worry making his voice drop a note lower.

"Yeah, no… Do we have any painkillers?" Sam asked, giving up on the idea that the migraine would 'just wear off'. Dean tilted closer to him, almost leaning his cheek on Sam's shoulder.

"Period pains?" The younger sibling glared flagitiously and gave his relative a sharp thud on his shoulder, a gesture that not only showed his displeasure, but also pushed his brother off his shoulder.

Dean grinned, and chuckled, as he rose from the bed.

"I think there's some in the bag." He walked over to the end of the other bunk to fish them out. Still smiling. "Carry on."

"Melanie Vincent died of pretty much old age, completely normal. Ted Vincent had a stroke."

"Here." The elder brother pasted the cardboard box of medication over to the younger before sitting down on his own bed. The younger sibling would have said 'thank you', but was still agitated from the joke Dean had made at his expense.

The box felt light, Sam shook it slightly, out of habit, before opening it and pushing two small white pills from their plastic confinement. He swallowed them quickly, almost greedily, and without water.

The hunter breathed out deeply through his nose as he felt them gild down his throat; he kept his eyes closed for a second.

"I'm guessing your bet of Ted Vincent is wrong, or the first thing you would've done would've been to gloat about it?" Dean asked. Sam half nodded, half shook his head. "Damn, I should've put money on that."

The younger hunter smirked.

"The deaths of Emily and Peter Swan are probably the most interesting, Emily Swan was epileptic, had been diagnosed since she was a child. She took medication to deal with her condition.

Apparently, the inquest concluded, there was a slip up and she was given the wrong tablets, she suffered a severe seizure, while she was walking down the stairs, she fell and broke her neck."

"Ouch."

"I know, her husband, Peter, called 911 but she was already dead. Two hours after the cornier took his wife's body away, neighbours report a that gun shot was heard, they go to investigate and find that Ted Swan's blown his brains out all over the bathroom floor."

"Nice." Sam nodded. "So we definitely have a violent death." Dean leaned forwards. "Where was he buried?" The younger Winchester breathed out through his nose and tilled his head to the side.

"I dunno Dean, I think there's more to it than that. Even though it was concluded that Emily was given the wrong pills there was no real evidence that she had been.

Peter could just 'ave easily pushed her, the only reason it wasn't followed was because both where dead, its a small town, everyone knew everyone. Most were grieving. People didn't want to think that their neighbour, and friend, had killed his wife and them himself."

"So it could be the broad?" The elder asked, pouting his lips ever so slightly, an unconscious movement that came when he was thinking.

Sam raised his hands and sighed.

"I dunno, I mean a stroke is similar, sort of, to a heart attack, a cornier could have mixed some papers around, Ted Vincent could have died of a heart attack. He could be haunting the place, the sight of him could have made his daughter trip down the stairs, hell, he could have made her. Or he could have mixed up her medication. I don't know, I don't like the thought that Peter Swan killed his wife, I mean, from what I read it was utterly devoted to her, pretty much worshipped the very air she breathed, that's why he just couldn't stand living with out her."

"Modern day Romeo and Juliet, so we're back to thinking it's old man Ted?" Dean motioned with his hands. "Cool, we could just salt and burn them all, just to cover all options." He grinned broadly.

Sam was beginning to wonder if his brother was turning into a pyromaniac.

"That's the problem."

"What?"

"They were all cremated." Sam leaded back.

"Crap." The younger brother nodded.

_Tune in next time for the continuation… _


	3. Chapter 3

"I don't see why we just don't go to the Langan's house," Dean waved one hand in the air lightly as he talked, before placing it, once more, on the steering wheel

"I don't see why we just don't go to the Langan's house," Dean waved one hand in the air lightly as he talked, before placing it, once more, on the steering wheel. "You know, ask around, do a little more digging." He was sitting back in his seat, a comfortable, relaxed position. "Digging is what we're good at."

Sam was sitting upright, not extremely so, but the juxtaposition was exceptional in comparison.

"That is, after all, what the plan _was_ Sammy," Dean was still talking, but his brother wasn't hearing, far too wrapped in his own musings. Strange, it was usually the other way around.

'Angie' by The Rolling Stones was playing, loudly, yet somehow softly on the stereo.

"You know, go to the house first, try to find out what the kid really saw. Not just burst into this town's version of Amityville…" The elder glanced over to the other, a small twitch of the eyes.

Sam gave no reaction.

"Sam. Sam. Sammy." Dean paused, licked his front teeth, pondering. "Come on college boy! Stop day dreaming about your girlfriend!" He grinned broadly as his brother's eyes unglazed, and turned towards him.

"What?" He frowned slightly at him, a small, sleepy scowl. His voice a quiet hush compared to his brother's.

"What, what Sammy?" The elder hunter kept his eyes fixed on the road as they turned a corner.

"What girlfriend?"

"The chick from the Library." The younger Winchester's face contorted into a full on glare, his mouth becoming a straight line as his eyelids lowered threateningly.

Dean chuckled.

"Seriously," the elder continued, before his brother could get a word, or retort, in. "How come we're going to the 'Hanuted-Vincent-More-Like-Adam's-Family-Freak-Out-Murder-House'?"

Sam stared at him for a moment, his mind catching up with his sibling's words.

"We're going to the 'Haunt-' " Sam swallowed, blinking slowly, and stifling a yawn. "To 62 Cedar Road, because I'm starting to doubt if its really haunted or not." He said, flatly.

Dean turned his head sharply and stared at him, for a full three seconds before remembering he was driving. His hands tightened on the wheel, he swallowed, perfect shock formed on his face.

"Dean, you ok?" Sam sat up suddenly, worry eradicating his tiredness.

"You _doubt _that's it's really haunted?" The younger sighed, and relaxed slightly.

"I mean, maybe-"

"You _doubt _that something weird is going on?" Disgust seamlessly mixed with outraged disturbance in the elder's voice. He almost sounded offended.

"No, it's just-"

"How can something weird _not _be going on?"

"Dean, just maybe-"

"You're the one who was so convinced that it was haunted. Is the grand master of Knowledge admitting he could be wrong?" The elder teased, a smirk gracing his lips.

Sam sighed.

"Just, maybe there's something else going on, something other than a sprit." Dean shrugged.

"Maybe." There was a pause. "Still don't get why we're not going to the Langan house first."

"Well, we've only got one witness-"

"I love when you say that, makes it sound like we're in CSI or Law And Order or Shark or something."

Dean grinned broadly, half gazing off for a moment, wrapped in his own world. Sam spared him a part frown, confused smile/glance before continuing.

"Yeah, TV references aside… The brother probably didn't see anything anyway."

"Probably." The elder Winchester repeated, in a slightly deeper tone somehow managing to convey his agreement with his brother and also the chance that Mike Langan may have seen more than he had told.

"Even if he has," Sam proceeded once more, the conversation flowing so easily and the ideas transferring so quickly it was as if, even though there were two bodies in the car, there was only one mind.

Some sort of sibling telepathy.

"Probably too traumatised to make sense of it."

Dean let out a 'hmm' of agreement as he pulled up next to 62 Cedar Road.

"It'll be best if we go over the place, check for EMF." The elder Winchester didn't need to say anything to show his agreement.

He and Sam glanced at the house for a moment, taking in the aged realm of the dwelling, like the dry crack and peel of old paint.

Dean turned the key in the ignition the sound of 'Ain't Talkin' 'Bout Love' by Van Halen dying to silence.

There was still a mass of police 'Don Not Cross' tape wrapped heavily around the building, making it look like a giant spider in it's web, waiting to pounce on some unsuspecting fly.

Sam felt a small shiver run down his spine just looking at it, and hoped against everything and anything that he didn't resemble the house's version of an insect.

He shook his head slightly to the side, wrinkling his nose as he looked up at the number sixty-two.

The younger sibling jumped out of his thoughts as he heard the door slam behind him.

It took Sam a moment to realise Dean had got out of the Impala, and for him to, therefore, do the same.

"Besides, when Bobbie called before we left, he said he'd be at the motel 'bout five thirty. We've got time to give this place the once over before heading back to meet him and compare notes."

Dean nodded listening to his brother, as he walked around to him before they both began to make their way in picking through the police tape and checking no one was watching. Both having taken the precaution of getting their equipment ready and on their person before hand so that the didn't have to open the weapon encrusted boot in broad daylight, on a heavily populated street, where young girl had recently died.

"Bobbie said he'd got one his contacts to do a bit of research on this place, Rider or something."

Dean 'hmmed' and nodded again. He hung back slightly; glancing around once more to check there was no one watching as Sam went forwards to the gate.

The sun lay low in the crisp, cold sky. It was near on its way to set, the blueness of the sky becoming a thick flaming orange, the glare so bright it was almost unbearable to glance in its direction at all.

Towards to the east the sky was growing darker, the echo of navy reaching out like a hand to blanket the glowing orb of the sun. The approach of the oncoming night.

The elder Winchester shook his head to the side, satisfied that there was no one observing them and walked after his brother.

The younger hunter paused by the gate, looking down at the mass of chains and locks on the metallic entrance, a slight frown on face. He glanced from the door to his brother to the door again, and sighed.

The chains weren't a problem, but there was a hell of a lot of them, and it would take a very long, boring time to unravel them all. He was about to suggest that they look for another way in, when Dean nudged the metal with his foot, and it swung open.

The younger glance to the elder, who smirked smugly and sauntered ahead.

He turned as he walked to face Sam.

"Dean, one." He pointed at himself, holding up one finger. "Stanford, zero." He indicated to Sam and made a circle out of his fingers, before chuckling and turning back around. The younger hunter rolled his eyes and strode after him.

The front garden was heavily overgrown; their path ahead almost completely blocked.

Sam scowled slightly; the urge to squirm was immense and difficult to suppress. He managed it though, mainly because he knew how much Dean would take the piss out of him for getting the 'heebee geebees'.

It was like someone was watching them.

The elder Winchester strode ahead, pushing a trail through the undergrowth, every now and then getting his jacket caught by thorns or some vine like root wrapping itself around his legs. It was like the place was one great big living, breathing creature that wanted them both to become part of the permanent fixtures.

He shivered slightly in spite of himself and hoped that his brother didn't notice, he knew how much Sam would take the mickey out of him for getting the 'heebee geebees'.

The younger hunter stuck close to his brother, the impulse not to be alone so strong that it made him feel like a scared four year old again, frightened by the thing in the closet.

He swallowed, his features pinching together; his hand went of its own accord to his gun. His body relaxing as his fingers just graced the cool metal.

He thought of their father, the first time he had given him a weapon. Sam pushed the thought aside.

Dean had taken his shotgun out from its hiding place under his jacket and was using it to beat at some of the botanical life. His patients with the plants having worn thin ever since a large thorn coated stem, growing sideways, had flunk back suddenly and scrapped down the side of his face.

A small, thin, scratch was visible, dark crimson dropping lightly down his cheek; he wiped at the tickling wetness, smearing a copper red kiss across his skin.

His fingers were covered in scrapes and cuts, like he had had a run in with a very unfriendly cat.

Dean could just about see how a young, thin, fourteen year old girl would get past all this without being entangled in the plant life.

He sighed out his annoyance; at least the police or coroners could have cut some of the botanical life back a bit.

"How you doing back there Sammy?" He asked, a slight gruff tone to his voice.

"Ok." The younger brother let out a hiss of annoyance as he narrowly dodged a large hanging vine.

Dean didn't envy his brothers extra height.

"Sam, plants don't like salt, right? Can I shoot at them?" The younger Winchester chuckled.

Dead leaves muffled their footsteps; fallen twigs and branches snapped under their footfall like brittle bones.

_It would be easy to get lost in here_, Sam thought. The leaves and roots growing so thick that they seemed to blanket out the rest of the world.

He could easily imagine a panther crouching in wait behind the shadow of a bush. He could believe that they were miles and miles away, in some far off land.

He inhaled strongly, then stopped, freezing in place, only his eyes moving as they grew in size. Sam could hear breathing behind him. White fog just catching at the corner of his eye.

He spun suddenly, a perfect turn, his hand reacting instinctively for the handle of his gun, but he didn't pull it out.

He turned to face who or whatever was behind him, but found nothing just the small path they had just walked along. The closed wooden gate just visible. The younger Winchester frowned.

_That's weird… _He thought, in spite of himself. _I could have sworn I left the gate open…_ A deep resonating shiver ran down his spine, tingling down to the base of his legs, adrenaline races through his system pushing him to run, as fast as he could.

"Sam?" The younger hunter's head snapped up and he span back, once more, to face his brother. Who was now a few steps away from him. The younger sibling moved his head up slightly, his eyebrows raising and falling for a second.

A questioning expression.

"You ok?" The elder asked, concern leaking into his voice, making it deeper. Sam nodded.

"Yeah, I just… I just thought I saw something…" He trailed off, feeling foolish.

"Did you?"

"No, yeah, I dunno…" Dean nodded, understanding, a small frown echoing on his forehead, he bit absentmindedly at his bottom lip.

"Come on." The elder turned back as Sam walked the few strides towards his brother. Dean waited, not moving even an inch, until the younger was close. "I've been thinkin' " The elder said, breathing out deeply through his nose. His grip tight on the handle of the shotgun, loaded with rock salt.

"Don't hurt yourself." Sam muttered, when his brother didn't continue.

Dean turned his head back to pester a glare at his sibling.

"This garden's overgrown, I mean it's Winter Sam and look at the leaves." The younger Winchester paused, staring at the rich greenness that he had just taken for granted before. The weirdness of it hadn't even registered in his brain. "Look at the plants, you can't tell me they're all like pine trees."

"No," Sam squinted at a tree for a moment, his brain racing. "This is an oak, they're deciduous."

There was a pause.

"They loose their leaves in the Winter Dean." He added, helpfully.

"I knew that Sam." The elder Winchester added, a little too quickly. "Anyway," he cleared his throat. "As I was saying, all the plant life here, it's all green, alive. That can't be normal."

"Definitely."

"So, maybe it's got something to do with what's going on, try waving the EMF meter around."

Sam nodded in agreement and instinctively took the busted Walkman from his inside jacket pocket. He switched in on with a flick of his thumb, the row of lights blaring into life; the younger Winchester quickly slid the headphones into his ears and proceeded to make sweeps with the machine as they walked along.

Or, as his brother put it, he waved it around a bit.

Sam ducked and weaved every now and then, avoiding plant life, while he tried to monitor the readings.

The light pitched buzzing noise and array of flashing lights were higher than normal, but not by that much. He sighed slightly, looking up as Dean bounded up the few rotting wood steps to the front porch.

The younger Winchester pulled the headphones out from his ears. As the older turned and raised his eyebrows.

"Nothing." Sam said. The elder shrugged as his sibling joined him on the porch.

"Now Sammy, how much do you bet that this door is locked?" The aforementioned paused for a moment, watching Dean, who's hand was resting near his left jean pocket.

Where he kept his lock picks.

"Five bucks."

The elder nudged the wooden door and it swung gently open on its hinges, not even making a sound.

The younger Winchester's face dropped, while the older's brightened, and turned into a full on grin as he held out his right hand.

Sam scowled, and rummaged in his back pocket for his wallet, he pulled out a five dollar note as violently as he could and slammed it into Dean's hand.

The elder hunter chuckled.

"Thank you, Sammy." He inspected the note thoroughly, then held it close to his nose and inhaled deeply. "Smell that Sam?"

"Shut up Dean."

"That's success. I know what you were thinking, you were thinking that the cops won't be stupid enough to leave a door to a crime scene open… Poor deluded Sammy." The elder sibling muttered as he walked in, a smile still threatening his face.

Sam sighed, and followed.

It was strange, there hadn't been any do not cross tape on the front door of the house and there was no taped out body shape lying on the floor. Perhaps it was because no one assumed foul play.

It was almost as if the police simply assumed that no one would dare to cross. Sam paused for a moment, pondering. Maybe because even though it was expanding, the town was still suck in its small ways, still believing that everyone knew everyone.

That people were just descent folk.

Sam almost envied them.

"You wanna take the upstairs or the downstairs?" Dean asked, breaking the younger Winchester out of his thoughts.

Sam glanced up; the staircase was five steps in front of the main entrance, a large entrance either side of it. The left seemed to ver off to the dinning hall and kitchen while the right was the living room and a study. It was easy to see the rooms that led from rooms as all the wooden doors had been gutted from the house long ago.

Even though the building had been vacant for years, it still seemed, newly abandoned. There was no graffiti on the walls, no reminders of squatters or drunken teenagers.

As if there was a respect for this place.

More like fear.

"Upstairs." Sam said, looking to his brother, who nodded. Dean had already taken his flashlight out and was holding it close to the shotgun, his arms straight and lowered. He made his way left.

The younger sibling watched him for a moment, before taking his own weapon and flashlight out and plugging the EMF reader's headphone into his right ear. He left the left to dangle free.

_Tune in next time for the continuation…_


	4. Chapter 4

Dean Winchester had gone no more than three steps before his own EMF reader, another busted Walkman, which in a pervious life had belonged to Sam and had been busted by Dean, began to hum and buzz and flash exceptionally

Dean Winchester had gone no more than three steps before his own EMF reader, another busted Walkman, which in a pervious life had belonged to Sam and had been busted by Dean, began to hum and buzz and flash exceptionally.

He glanced down at it, sticking from his trouser pocket, and tightened his grip on the gun handle.

For a moment he thought about calling for Sam, after all if whatever this bad ass was, was down here, his brother didn't need to waste his time, when the buzzing stopped. Completely.

Now _that_ was _weird_. There should at least be a background echo or something.

He paused, and after a minute when no sound returned, he shoved the small flashlight into his jacket pocket and pulled out the EMF meter. The lights were still flashing, high up in the red.

A full on frown of confusion crossed his face, tensing his handsome features.

He hit the end of the Walkman against the hilt of the gun.

_Maybe a few connections have got loose. _He thought.

There was a slight thump to his left, a thud, a sigh.

Dean spun on his heels, arm raised, feet spread, ready for an attack.

But there was nothing. Nothing but the shadows.

The room, presumably once being the dinning room, was dark, still a little light flooded in from the window, the echo of the dying sun.

The walls had coloured a dingy burnt orange. An ancient paper colour, the flower pattern on the wallpaper just visible.

"Jumpy…" He muttered to himself, dragging out the word. The hunter turned back to the way he was headed, arms still straight, gun still raised.

'Jumpy' maybe, but he wasn't stupid.

He slowly made his way towards the kitchen.

Sam Winchester had reached the top of the staircase, his heart hammering so loudly he could have sworn it had escaped his chest and was now taking up residence in his eardrums.

He exhaled deeply through his nose, unsure of why he was so anxious. So…

"Jumpy…" He muttered, choosing to go right and with gun and flash light still held high, began to edge down the corridor.

All of a sudden, the EMF meter stopped buzzing, ceased to make any noise what so ever.

Sam paused, frowning heavily. Now that was weird. He glance down towards the machine, the very top of it sticking out from his jacket pocket. Sam just managed to say,

"What the..?" When a full on force hit him in the chest.

The pressure dug down, bending his spine, he opened his mouth to let out a gasp of surprise as invisible tendrils slammed their way down his throat, cutting off any sound he might have made. It pushed through his ears, his nose, his eyes.

Paralysis bit sharp and strong down every bone of his spine, freezing his limbs in place.

An amazing weight lent down on him, Sam felt like he was being squashed, pushed down lower and lower, into the very heels of his shoes, through to the wooden floor boards. All he could see was a whitish red that somehow blocked and covered his vision.

It was like being deep under water, thousands of miles below sea level where surely the strain would kill. He tried to fight against it, to shove back but it was like a toddler trying to stop a speeding car, he just crumbled under the sheer weight, the dark blue vastness, the hint of raspberry to the tongue, mixed with something sharper, more metallic.

Blood. His own.

Like an ant under a shoe. Surely this pressure would kill him. His body couldn't take the stress, his blood vessels would burst his organs would explode, like too much air in a balloon, as the great mass of wisps filled every part of him, pushed into every cell.

Sam's mind screamed, every part of him pounded in pain, there was one thought, one cry.

_Dean!_

And then, then there was nothing. Just relief.

And darkness.

In the kitchen, Dean took out the EMF reader once more, the lights flashing the highest red, but no sound coming fourth. He scowled and shook it slightly, even held the contraption to his ear.

_Maybe there's an electric mast around or something… _He thought. A small voice in his mind answering. _Do you really believe that? _

Dean held his shotgun firmly in his hand, wondering what Sam would do when a force hit him in the back.

The shock and suddenness knocked all the air from his lungs. The pressure grouped up around his shoulders and upper back, thick and heavy sticking to him like goo. It ran and slid down the outside of his arms, freezing them in pace, seeming to mould around them like concrete, flowing like glue.

Dean snarled in pain, his fingers stiffening in place, not even allowing him to take even one shot. His crouched position contorted suddenly, a ear splitting shaft of pain slamming into him as his body was forced into a cross shape, stiff and perfect, his head falling backwards, his eyes staring at the ceiling but only seeing a whitish red, blood on snow.

His limbs were pulled by some demented puppeteer. It was like he was being stretched, pulled up as the invisible ooze like force dragged back, his ankles and wrists with it before slamming back into him.

A harsh nerve shredding sound filled his ears, it took his mind a minute to realise it was his own screaming.

The more the pressure wrenched and thundered back the more its shape spread and condensed, like moulded dough, into Dean's form, his shape, sending spikes and splinters of dark green agony through his senses.

He could taste apple blossom on his tongue, hear the echo of a far off and distance bell, smell nut meg.

Sweat broke out on his body, as the intensity stretched back once more, further than before, like some great sling shot, wrenching back his arms and pushed into him.

A part of his back gave way, he felt it piece through his flesh, a skewer rammed into his very heart, a needle realising its poison, as the rest of the mass of pressure followed, flowed through this pinprick of a hole. A hole so small that not even a drop of blood flowed.

It gushed like water through a broken dam. It spat through like lightening filling his heart with endless suffering, the clench and unclench of muscles and tissue.

Dean's yells caught in his throat, a deep paralysis spreading and biting into his spine. He was sure that this was the end, that his heart would burst, the mass of weight filled through him, pushing into every inch, stuffing every cell. The pain was sharp, rigid, unbearable, hot and fiery and salty.

Wetness ran down from his right eye, he could smell iron.

Dean's mind screamed, every piece twisted in pain, as millions of knives were forced through them. He yelled silently, his only coherent thoughts, _Sam!_

There was a pause, a strange second, were everything was normal, fine. He gasped out. Then there was blackness, swirls of it.

And nothing more.


	5. Chapter 5

Emily slowly opened her eyes, blinking heavily to shift the haze that blurred her vision. She let out a low breath, the sweet warmness of it tingling the skin of her left hand.

She was lying n her right side, on the hard, dark wood floor. Emily raised herself up slowly, pushing down firmly with her hands. Her head thundered slightly, the mix of a head rush and a dying headache making her stop and hold herself still for a moment.

She clamped her lids shut, inhaling deeply. Emily opened them suddenly, her pupils growing wide, as a large, wondrous grin spread itself across her face.

Well, not really her hers.

She held her fingers in front of her face, rubbing them together, feeling the buzz and tingle of sensation run down the nerves.

She was in a body, a real, living, breathing body after so long.

There was a slight ache in her right hand, a muscular pain, but it was minimal and she pushed it aside.

She stood quickly, a rush of adrenaline and delight running through her, and almost fell. She tripped, stumbling sideways, her shoulder shoving into a wall.

She grimaced as the pain rushed through her. Emily looked down, her jean-clothed legs were far longer than she was used too, the extra height disorientating her and making it problematic to move.

She glanced down to the ground, and gulped, the floor seemed so far away. She simply stated for a moment, like a small child who has climbed on a wall and realises that they can not jump down.

"This is silly." She muttered. "Just silly." Her voice came out distorted, lower, more masculine, but still with the pressure and pronunciation of her tone. It was a wonder to hear out loud, and she grinned deeply in spite of herself.

She swallowed, half hugging the wall for support, but becoming more confident by the moment. Her old bravery returning to her as the disorientation from getting into the body slowly ebbed away.

It took her a moment to realise the tensing sensation in her right hand was because she was holding something, something metallic and hard.

It was a gun.

Her eyes widened as she stared blankly at the weapon for a second before flinging in out of her hand with a small yelp and a random jump backwards that unbalanced her so badly that she nearly feel to the ground.

Emily gripped heavily at the door frame to her side, breathing heavily, panic sweeping through her, her father's voice ringing clear as water in her mind. How he despised weapons, forbade violence.

The instinct to get as far away from the shotgun was so strong, as if she expected him to walk around the corner and catch her, when he had been dead for so many years.

Longer than she had.

"Don't be stupid Emily, it's just a gun…" She whispered , sighing. A melancholy hint to her eyes. "It's just a gun…" The young woman bent forwards and picked the offending object up, holding it in her 'borrowed' hands for a moment. Feeling the coolness of the metal, the hard smoothness of the barrel.

She could smell gunpowder, almost her the sound of it being fired in her mind, but it was far off distant, just a memory, there then gone. Lost in a second.

Emily looked down at the hands she was using, the skin slightly more tanned than her natural ones. The fingers longer than she had in life, the perfect, shortly cropped and cleaned nails, with their pale pink tinge to them, she smiled, in a mixture of happiness and grief.

"Who are you?" she whispered looking down at the strong hands. "Why did you come here?" Then she added, after a pause. "With a gun, why did you come into my house with a gun?"

She shivered slightly, a spark of a headache following into her mind; she breathed deeply, her hand to her forehead, and tried to push it away.

Emily didn't care what Peter had said, they couldn't stay in these people for long, they were good. Honourable. Even if this one did carry a weapon, she could not shake the feeling that, that they helped. And she'd rather be damned than see them hurt.

A small flare of warning, anger, even burned suddenly, a thought, a memory on the tip of her tongue. Peter… She had to stop, she had too…

Then it was gone. She frowned, fighting for the recollection, but there was nothing, only her sigh as a slight breeze wafted in from a smashed window. She turned towards to instinctively, feeling the coolness, like a kiss, tingle across the skin.

Emily inhaled deeply once more, closing her eyes, filling her lungs with the smell of grass, the icy hint of winter. As she slowly opened her eyes, seeing the smashed pane of the glassed window.

She sighed, sadly, then froze, her eyes catching a glimpse of her face, her borrowed face, in an old mirror. A layer of fine, sand-coloured dust covered the large mass of silver, one thin, fine crack running off to the side.

Emily remembered than mirror, the memory so string it was almost like stepping into the past. She didn't realise that she had walked towards it until she was standing directly before the reflective surface. Her clumsiness forgotten, her legs moving simply of their own accord, only teetering and swaying the wring way now and then.

She raised her right hand having absentmindedly tucked the shotgun through the belt of her trousers, and wiped the dust away. The blue coolness of it sent mini shivers racing along her nerves, causing her shoulders to bunch together.

As the mass of speckled haze cleared, like fog lifting, a young man's face stared back at her. Her eyes opened wider, her mouth forming a silent gasp of surprise.

The reflection that wasn't hers, yet somehow was, did the same.

She smiled cautiously, spreading the muscles in her lips and watched, half in wonder as the man's lips did the same. Emily broke into a full on grin, flashing incredibly white teeth, her mirror image nearly dazzling her in its sparkle of delight. The handsome features producing such a magnificent expression it was a joy to behold.

Hope in the dark.

She breathed, turning her face from side to side to inspect it further. Pulling various expressions, the muscles wrinkling and stretching the skin.

Emily ran her hand through her hair, feeling the rich, glossy fullness of it. It was darker than her own, and shorter. The hair framing her 'borrowed' face perfectly, soft wisps of it tickling at the base of her neck.

She beamed again, taking in the sparkle of the eyes, the sharpness of the nose. She ran her forefinger down it, going from bridge to end before pressing it into her face like a button, then giggling once, quietly.

Next she moved along the cheekbones, just gracing at the velvet like delicateness of the thin skin under the eyes. She felt along the jaw lie, feeling the rich smoothness and, every now and then, a sharp prickle of facial hair, invisible to the eyes, but not to the fingers.

She this was Emily, for now.

"I wonder what your name is…" She muttered softly to her reflection. She let her arms hang at her sides, and then, after a moment of deliberation, turned and walked, shakily, from the room and down the stairs, gripping heavily at the banister as she went. The fear of falling quite burdensome in her mind.

When her feet finally hit the floorboard ground, she sighed a breath of relief that she had not fallen. The strange, almost vertigo like feeling was extreme, even for Emily. And she was quite unsure of why her staircase had suddenly filled her with dread. She stared at the steps for a moment, a deep-set frown of her 'borrowed' face, brooding deeply.

There was a far off noise on her mind, shouting maybe? Someone calling out? A thump of pressure.

Then nothing, just the rhythmic sound of her breathing.

She sighed once more, looking about for a second, her heart saddened by the realm of decay and disuse that had overtaken the house she had ground up in, the house that she loved.

There was an exhausted gasp, a slight thud of movement, a step being taken on the old floorboards.

Emily spun on her heels, her eyes wide and inquisitive, partially weary, and took a step towards the noise, leading her through the doorway to the left, where another young man was standing in the very centre of the room, his back to her, wobbling and unsteady on his legs.

Her brow furrowed once more, as she watched in the shadows.

The man was shorter than she now was, his hair more closely cropped. He shook his head slightly, running a hand over his face before turning and seeing her.

The face that stared back at her was different to her reflection, but yet, somehow it was the same too.

"Emily?" The voice was gruffer than the vocal chords where used too, the ascent different to the tongue. But somehow, even though the speech was coming from a different mouth, it still sounded the same. Still sent a warm shiver running through her spine.


End file.
